Kishi Kaisei
by ozsia
Summary: 'Once you drink that phial, Lord Potter, there will be no going back.' The Goblin warns but Harry is heedless to everything. 'I understand.' Harry replies needlessly, tone curt. 'Completely.' In where Sirius dies, Harry has enough and leaves the Wizarding World with a new name and another set of genetics. A Harry-is-Hibari fic.
1. On My Life, So Be It

**Code:** HP,KHR-KK-MC

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the featured media, the rights go to their rightful owners.

 **Media:** Harry Potter **/** Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

 **Title:** Kishi Kaisei

 **Notable Sub-genres:** **[** Harry Potter | Hibari Kyouya/ Sawada Tsunayoshi **]** Harry-gets-fed-up-and-leaves-the-Wizarding-World AU. Blood adoption. Harry _is_ Hibari.

 **Rating:** " **T** " for Crude Language and some mature themes.

 **Chapter:** Multichapter

 **Status:** In-Progress

* * *

Lily Evens has just turned eleven-years-old when there's a knock at the door. She'd already opened her presents, her favourite of which was a Hedwig doll she'd wanted last year but hadn't received; a toy that was a character created by Dr Seuss. Tunie and Lily had learnt how to read with his books and she was very fond of his rhymes and the wacky, wonky world he painted in.

Now, she'd blown out her candles on her cake and was waiting for her father to find a blunt knife to allow her to cut into the delicious sponge in front of her. Lily had been to a few birthday parties and knew that it wasn't all that common for someone her age to be allowed to carve into the cake herself, but it'd always been the case for her family and she enjoyed doing it.

The call of a visitor stops her father short from his task. He turns to her mother with some curiosity. 'I thought you said your lot couldn't make it?' he asks as he lowers the knife onto the kitchen counter top, already distracted.

Mummy simply frowned. 'They can't. Jeff's sick so Rose had to stay home,' she responds with a glance towards the hallway and the door that lays beyond. Daddy didn't wait around to ponder the mystery, instead leaving to answer the door before the bell had a change to chine again. It left Lily and Petunia at the kitchen table, staring helplessly at the red velvet cake. Mummy was a baker and always made their cakes; every year she seemed to get better.

The piping for the beautiful white flowers around the base was so realistic that it seemed that if Lily were to reach forward, her finger would brush against a real petal. All Lily wanted as she fidgeted was to try a piece.

Daddy returned with a woman in tow and Lily's eyes were instantly drawn to the stranger. She was a bit younger than her parents, long dark hair pulled up into a tight bun and wearing a black blouse and tartan skirt. She was very professional looking, walked proudly, with her hands interlaced in front of her and her chin jutted forward.

Mummy seems to surprised and Daddy is quick to introduce the stranger. 'Dear, this is - Minerva McGonagall.' He steps aside to allow the woman more room in the entrance of the kitchen, gesturing to present her even if the confusion from his face hasn't quick shifted. 'She's here about Lily-Flower's education.'

'What?' Mummy blinks as she looks uncertainly between Daddy and the lady who curtsies.

'It's nice to meet you, Misses Evans,' McGonagall says with an accent Lily hasn't encountered before, far more used to cockney from the East London area or the RP accent, both of which were very different.

'Er - quite, would you like to sit down?' Mummy asks because manners cost nothing and it'd be rude otherwise. McGonagall inclines her head and lowers herself primly into the seat Daddy pulls out, on the opposite side of the table to Lily and Tunie.

'Thank you.' McGonagall nods and although Daddy comes back to sit between them, Lily is very curious about the lady; finds her intrigue piqued for more than just McGonagall's sudden appearance. When they're gazes meet, Lily finds the woman's light green eyes…familiar.

'Ah…' McGonagall smiles and it softens the harder edges of her stern face. 'You must be Lily.'

Lily straightens and Tunie is quick to pout. 'How'd you guess?'

'Magic,' McGonagall states without a hint of mocking in her tone. The seriousness of her voice is enough to startle her parents even when Lily's stomach alit. 'Because I am a witch and - so are you Lily Evans.'

That'd caused some outrage before McGonagall turns one of their empty chairs into a cat and levitates Lily in her own. The reality of the situation seems to shock near everyone silent as the grapple for footing. 'I am sure the idea will take some getting used to, but I am here to offer you a place at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

'A place?' Daddy asks warily.

McGonagall. 'It is a wonderful opportunity. We've had our eye on Ms Evans since she was seven.'

'What?' Mummy exclaims. 'H-how -?'

'Why, your young one has had some powerful accidental magic. Muggle-Bird's are, of course, hard for us to find and Hogwarts is England's most prodigious school; these are slim pickings.'

'But you're invested in Lily?' Daddy says as if he needs confirmation.

McGonagall nods. 'Children who have repeated occasions of accidental magic are automatically bought to the attention of the Board of Governors. It's all in accordance with the the Secrecy Act and teaching these young witch and wizards how to control their magical outbursts, however it has the added bonus of giving talented children a chance.'

* * *

Lily had been walking on sunshine, so excited and so desperate to look at the bright side with how tense things were at home. She wanted to belong here, to be able to say that everything with Petunia was worth it. Maybe that was why. Maybe that was why she'd been so ignorant to all the corruption and bigotry that had an almost parasitical relationship with magic.

It isn't until one of her best friends calls her "mudblood" that she realises how hate festers in the Wizarding World just like everywhere else, if not more as it had not been taught consequence. Lily's grandpa would've been ashamed, having fought in the second World War for Britain and Europe which had been falling to it's knees in the face of such intolerance that world may never recover from its destruction, however they try to move on.

Ashamed but not surprised, as Grandpa had been a wise man, quiet but he'd inspired her nonetheless.

It was probably with the strength he gave her that allowed Lily to refuse to be stepped on, however intimidating it seemed, to take a stand. Even if all she protected was herself. Because there were so many more pure-bloods or half-bloods than muggle-borns, with tutoring and with more understanding of the cultural that was so closed off to her.

Severus came to Gryffindor to apologise but Lily had only responded his call because he'd become demanding and rude to the second year that had answered the knock on the portal door. Lily would have just cut him off, embarrassed enough at being proven wrong about his nature, hurt at the betrayal and disgust in herself that she'd been so blind.

Instead, Lily forced herself meet him by the portal, the door just open enough for them to have a conversation but she would not go out to meet him and Severus was not welcome inside. He'd looked like a dog with its tail between its legs and Lily marvelled at the gall.

Lily hadn't blinked at the "sorry" he'd mumbled though his distress may have very well been genuine.

'You think that an apology will make up for what you said?' Lily had asked once he'd said his peace and had fallen silent, looking at her expectantly. And of course, that Severus could throw such a horrifying slur her way was terrible but that he said it at all was _worse._

"Mudblood" had been added to the Wizarding World vernacular when purebloods had started to bury those with "dirty blood" in the ages of Merlin, before the magic community had retreated from their muggle counterparts. Then it was used to further mock and degrade those who'd survived. It was a terrible thing to say to anyone, rooted in the death of an incalculable number of victims.

Purebloods said it to people they thought beneath them, that they thought so invaluable that they didn't deserved to life. It was an _horrendous_ word and Lily could never, ever condone it. More than that, she should've questioned Severus on the group he'd decided to align himself with in Slytherin, primarily Malfoy, Nott and Macnair. She knew all of them to be racists, far more than simple bullies; they'd been _dangerous,_ but she'd stupidly pushed away the warnings because she'd thought that with the amount of trouble Severus had had with Potter and his ragtag gang, that having _other_ friends besides Lily was a good thing.

Well, birds and a feather and all that. She couldn't turn a blind eye towards it anymore. Enough was enough. He'd shown himself for what he was.

'You can keep your sorries,' Lily had told his wide eyes, dark pits that she once looked at and saw friendship in. 'You were right as it happens: I _am_ a Mud-Blood.' Whatever noise in the common room and been whispering behind her cut out abruptly.

'Lily -' he reaches out but he does not deserve her name nor her presence. Or any part of her. Lily wondered if that rich Prince blood caused clots. Wondered if it shined like _gold_ if he was to be cut open rather than the simple red iron that ran in hers.

'Snape.' She narrowed her eyes, warning him off. Lily swallowed, and ignored the aching of her heart as she leaned in and summoned all the contempt inside her that had managed to build. _'You will not_ bury _me.'_

She stepped back, arm still holding the door - always in control of this interaction and is firm in closing it in Severus' floundering face, severing their ties with the same coldness that he had spat that word. Maybe some people would say it was callous, that it was a mistake; a slip of the tongue and that Severus needed someone. Lily was not a Hufflepuff and there had to be a line.

No one else would give her self-worth, she had to have it within herself.

* * *

Lily stared in shock at the _Daily Prophet,_ at the headline that announced the death of Charlus and Dorea Potter. They were the third pureblooded family to suffer a loss, the others being the Prewett's and the Bone's. Every murder would be described gruesomely with an almost sadistic flourish. Lily hated this paper, it was a perverse form of journalism but it was the only way to keep track of the war, to gauge the climate.

The rise of a new Dark Lord meant people were dying. At the beginning it had been attacks in muggle areas and although those hadn't stopped, they seemed to have moved closer inward, to the muggleborns and half-bloods that had already invaded. Lily's own life had been threatened in the corridors and classrooms and she was never far from her wand, or a friend whom she knew she could trust.

Many were dying these days. That, however was no excuse for Potter to learn of his Parents' passing from _Aron Sigmund, "war correspondent"._ The aurors as stretched thin as they were, would know of their deaths, they should have sent someone to inform him, as their immediate kin, their only child.

Lily hadn't been very far from where Potter sat on the bench as one of her closet friend's was Alice Alwyn, who'd recently agreed to a courtship with Frank Longbottom, a member of Gryffindor's Quidditch team and seemed not to mind Potter's company. It had the effort of seating her on the opposite side of the table and it'd made her saw the moment he'd clapped eyes on the front page of the paper delivered through Hogwart's subscription.

The graphic photos of Potter's parents - the Potter's who'd used their voices to be outspoken about amoral actions of the new Dark Lord and his party, was set as an example the _Daily Prophet_ hadn't minded sharing. **You-Know-Who Deals Another Blow To The Light!** just added to the effect.

The photos of Charles - early forties maybe, tortured bloody and missing a limb with his wife - Dorea's who was missing a lot more, was almost too much for Lily to even look at for a second though she'd become almost desensitised from it, but it takes less than for Potter to go absolutely white. The paper falls from his hands and it's like the whole Hall has held its breath. Lily cannot help but gawk, unsure - if anything - what she should do.

Hazel eyes are wide and are almost vacant as they gaze at the table where the article detailing his parents' murder glares up at him. The noise Potter makes as it seems to settle in is something Lily cannot describe and she acts instinctively.

The rest of his gang aren't here as the full moon had just been and gone, with Remus recovering in the Hospital Wing. Black had managed to get detention though this time Lily was sure it hadn't been his fault - not at that time of the month, as they had the good grace not to look for trouble. Pettigrew had the bad habit of sleeping late the next day, with Potter and Black when he was available the only two who managed to be functional after.

This morning it was just Potter and a silent Hall of people frozen stiff with shock. No one deserves this and Lily cannot stop herself from jumping up onto the table, ignorant of the food that was along its service. She knocks over three glasses and a pitcher of pumpkin juice but refuses to flinch away, even when her knee lands in a dish of fried egg and the other is scrapped by something sharp, possibly a knife.

Lily barely notices as her heart pounds with anxiety even when she flings her right hand to push everything away from in front of Potter. The paper, his plate, a mug and a trey of hash browns straight into Longbottom's lap. Lily cannot even offer an apologetic look as after she throws her arms around Potter's quivering shoulders.

Her position is inappropriate, not just because her arse is in the air but that she is touching a boy she was not involved with. Her mother would be horrified but Potter is - he's _trembling._ His gasping breath heats under her collar and he stifles a sob, two before his own arms hesitantly curl around Lily's back.

Potter had always been so _proud_ of his parents and not in the egotistical way Malfoy could be, but as a loving son. He hadn't ever lorded over his status in the Wizarding World, brought about by birth alone. No, he took pride in who is parents were, rather than _what._

He'd always delight in the stance Charlus and Dorea had taken in the war; the words they had spoken for the many victimised, the battles fought in protection and now…

Lily pushes closer, _harder,_ and Potter does the same, strengthens himself until she can feel his nails digging into her shoulders through her robes. Potter cries. It's hushed and stifled, strangled because though there is so much space in the Hall, this is not a safe space. Lily tries to shield him as best as she can; knows that this would be humiliating however justified, however _human._ There was vulnerability here, weakness that could be exploited and her heart rages at the injustice.

Someone softly clears their throat, a nudge for attention that is unintrusive. Lily looks up to see Headmaster Dumbledore and his regretful eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. Besides him is Professional McGonagall who seems shaken, grey with a misting gaze.

'Mister Potter…' Dumbledore begins before he stops. Potter doesn't so much as twitch against Lily, his face still buried in the nook of her neck. The headmaster readdresses to her, expression grim. 'Pardon, Miss Evans. Would…you mind ever so, if you were to escort Mister Potter to my office?'

Lily wordlessly agrees and tries to shift backwards, to get off of the the tabletop in order to stand, only Potter refuses to let go, doesn't budge and her stomach tightens uncomfortably. Swallowing, she instead moves forward and Alice and Longbottom are quick to take things from her path. It's still awkward and her right foot gets caught up in her skirt at one point as she sits, trying to get her legs up underneath her and has to fix it without untying her arms from Potter's shoulders.

Eventually she's in a position where she can simply shift into Potter's lap and the tight space between the edge of the table and the situation of the bench is tight, enough so that Lily has to wince but her shift has already begun to wet with his tears. Lily cannot begrudge this.

'I'm…I'm not going anywhere,' Lily says when neither of them moves, waiting as she is to feel him start to stand. The professors are thankfully patient otherwise they'd be losing house points for what would no doubt come out of her mouth. 'I'm coming with you, but…you need to get up, can you do that?' she asks gently.

Lily starts to rub the path of his spine and wishes she could just make this better, just make the hurt go away. All the magic couldn't accomplish that though, there were rules. Death was final, life was singular and precious and only eternal once it was gone. 'I won't leave you,' she swears again and hears how her own voice has become thick and weighted in a grief she has no right to. 'I _promise,_ but we need to stand.'

Potter shudders than and slowly, he nods. It's so small she wouldn't have recognised it if she hadn't felt it. A moment later, together, they manoeuvre up in a way that Potter can keep Lily close and separate themselves from the bench and table. She tries to ignore her discomfort because this wasn't about her and the last thing running through this boy's head would be anything improper.

He lifts his head, eyes half-mast with tears clinging to dark lashes like icicles forming in the winter. His face is a mess and his glasses are askew. He stares at her with such heartbreak that she feels her own groan in sympathy, echoing in the tight cavity of her chest. 'The headmaster's office,' she reminds him, gently giving him something else to focus on as she feels the professionals behind her.

Potter blinks at her, breathing in and out through his mouth and her stomach jumps as she starts to fear that he's going into shock but then he wraps an arm around her waist. His fingers tangle themselves up in Lily's robes and she takes a breath. _Okay_. They begin to leave the Great Hall and she tries not to think about what she's left behind, the newspaper article and months worth of gossip and ridicule, she's tries not to think about how her legs are shaking, how blood is trailing down into her sock from that roody knife.

Instead, Lily tries to anchor herself to Potter, to this boy and how he stumbles, like his legs have lost their way, like he no longer has the foundations to keep him walking. She tries to focus and bear his weight.

Lily, after all, had given Potter her word and she'd be damned if she did not keep it.

* * *

Lily's been dating James seriously for six months after learning of the gentleman underneath all that bluster, after gaining an understanding for everyone of his confrontations with Severus which had been her one major hangup on his character and that his interest in her was genuine and heartfelt. He wasn't perfect but he always endeavoured to be better. That the word mudblood had never left his mouth was a boon, that he hated pureblood superiority was another. She knew that no matter what, she'd be safe with him.

Some may say it was a tad early but they moved into a house of their own; a cottage in Godric's Hollow. They lived in a war and life was short and love was the only thing that people seemed to be able to give nowadays.

Their home was not as lavish as Potter Mansion but James wasn't able to spend any length of time there. Lily had thought that was incredibly sad; it was his ancestral home and he'd grown up there but Lily couldn't fault him, understandable as it was to struggle with the loss of not one but both parents.

Their cottage was lovely, it was _theirs._ Of course, though James had tried to be considerate of Lily in regards to his friends and how much time they got to spend there but she knew how important they were to him, and had had no issue in making the guest bedroom Sirius'. Remus was too proud to live them and Peter had a home of his own but Sirius needed somewhere.

It helped that she had become quite fond of the man herself and that there were safety in numbers. It was a dangerous time and with the failure in the Ministry to put a stop to the Dark Lord and his associates, the Order of the Phoenix had risen to the occasion.

When they weren't fighting blood superiority, they were working. James and Sirius were auror partners while Lily worked on her Charms Mastery. She wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to do with it yet, just that she knew she was going in the right direction in her elected branch of magic.

Things were - hectic. may be a word, terrifying another. Sometimes Lily needed space and left James feeling insecure. Other instances James took a joke or a prank too far but they learnt one another's boundaries; the lines that they needed to have drawn, the ones they could compromise on because that's what it meant when you loved someone.

And Lily did love him so after a nice dinner in when James got down on one knee in front of her, box in hand that seated a glittering ring set in velvet, Lily wasn't sure what to think. Her chest fluttered with something like hope as she looked into Jame's loving eyes, smiling crookedly like but she existed.

(And she remembered, on that first visit home with James, before her own parents had been caught up in a "gas explosion" what her mother had whispered to her while Dad teased James with the television. 'I like the way he looks at you,' she'd said, approval in the lines of her tired face.)

Swallowing in nervous excitement, the spice of the curry on her tongue, Lily knew she had to ask. 'Is this….' she took a breath. 'This isn't a joke, is it, James?'

James smile softens, shaking his head sheepishly even if the jerks are anxious in a way Lily hadn't quite seen before. His reply, sincere and hopeful guarantees her own.

'I've always been serious about you, Lily.'

* * *

Lily is nineteen-years-old and her stomach is barely swollen when she discovers she is carrying another life inside her. James and her are both sat at the kitchen table, the healer having left a short while ago. They are both silent, both mourning. Ordinarily this would have been joyous news but instead it is weighed down with the fear that Lily - never mind the child - may not survive this war.

Lily is a prime target to Voldemort and his Death Eaters - a _favourite_ target. She's desirable , a head in her field of study and married to a pureblood; all things they feel she does not deserve, that she was strong dueller and activity fought against their regime made her future very uncertain in the face of the number who wanted her dead.

She'd been fighting with this vulnerable life in her stomach. Lily had taken missions for the Order and on three separate occasions with James, a couple with Sirius and Remus by her sides, she'd come face-to-face with Voldemort, himself. Lily had taken stupid risks, put her health on the line thinking it had been her own and -

It hadn't been.

Lily had waved away the signs, thought the morning sickness was from the uncertainty, the fatigue from the battles and the injuries and the constant struggle but James had worried, had asked that she have a checkup. With how worn-down James was, she couldn't refuse him. Discovering the developing baby was horrifying. How many times has she almost sentenced this child to death? How many times had she almost damned her own?

'What do we do?' Lily whispered knowing that she was one of the few witches on the front lines; one of their best. She knew it would be a huge blow to their cause if they were to lose, but Lily had never considered abortion before beyond the right for someone to chose. She didn't know if she had that in her. The thought of it alone - Lily had no idea if she could live with herself afterwards…

'My…' James' voice broke. His eyes were shiny, a wet shield of tears. 'My parents…Dad said once that they had given upon children after a few years of trying. Mum - she'd been heartbroken, thought it'd been her fault. But then, they were pregnant. It'd been - they said it'd been a miracle.'

James couldn't really spoke of his parents. He loved them dearly and missed them just as much. It was just something he couldn't get over, however much having Lily and Sirius with him helped but it was very much like slapping a bandaid over a wound that refused to heal.

Sadly, Lily now knew what it was like.

She could offer little though but her hand and her ear. She listens, interlinks their fingers and tries to be the pillar of support he'd been to her with the bigotry she had to deal with, Her own sister's bitter hatred, her parent's deaths and Snape's continuing letters.

'Babies aren't born when they're told, Dad joked,' James murmurs thickly, while being strong enough to allow her to see his tears but stubborn enough to keep them from falling. 'I… in the end, you get the finally say, 'course, but…I can't…'

Lily looks at him and wets her lips as her heart thumps against her rib cage and thinks wildly for a moment if it's hers at all. 'We'll have to look at protections, wards,' Lily offers, an acceptance for the decision they both seemed to have come to. There's a trembling smile, shared trepidation as they eventual stand, together, and lead themselves up the stairs to their room.

They settle on their bed, under plush duvets with Jame's head cushioned against her stomach, arms laid limply on her hips. Lily in turn curls around him, feeds her hands into his impossible hair. In the shadows and the quiet, they surrender to each other.

* * *

Born as the seventh month dies under the fire of the sun, Harry James Potter's first cry was a wailing symphony of air and life and magic. He weighed little more than a bag of sugar with frail limbs and think skin. Even so, the world had been waiting for him; Harry with his pitch black hair and bright green eyes, who took equal parts from mother and father. Harry with a heart that beat and bled with the strength that had been foretold to rival darkness.

A monster of his own making.

Lily had named him after her Grandpa, Harrison Evans; a solider who'd been a capable man with the heart of gold, a conscientious objector who'd refused to kill. Someone who'd saved several of his friends under fire despite it all. He should have died but he'd lived and that was all Lily really wanted for Harry.

Labour had been long and harsh, complicated through their living conditions and unable to go to St Mungo's. Poppy had had to come to them, a medi-witch who was really the equivalent of a nurse but she was the only one they trusted and they'd rather risk it than allow an unknown into their space, to their baby.

'Congratulations,' Poppy told them as she handed Harry back after checking his vitals, cleaning him up and wrapping him in a starry blanket. Her eyes were dim and her thin smile was forced upon her mouth but the new parents could hardly blame her. The war was terrible time for everyone but healers especially. A single birth would be a blessing even if it was overwrought with the bittersweet knowledge that age protected no one.

Lily didn't want to think of that though, the first time she held her son. Instead, she marvelled at the little light in her arms as James held her close and Sirius looked on. 'He's…' James falters, breath catching in his throat as he gets a good look at their baby over her shoulder. 'He's beautiful.'

Lily nods in agreement as she stretches her neck to the side while ignoring the discomfort the pain potion can't quite mask, to kiss James on the cheek. 'Thank you,' she whispers with no explanation, knowing he would understand.

James swallows thickly, eyes red and glazed as he looks between her and their baby. He squeezes her a little tighter and her mind flashes back to the Great Hall, to that one decision which probably changed the direction of her life. He whispers back an "I'm sorry."

And Lily understands, too.

* * *

'Peter,' Lily calls after the man, before he can leave. Out of all James' friends, she knew him the least, close as she was to Remus and as much as she loved Sirius, Peter was always coming and going. He was sort of like that fair-weathered friend who was never that involved but who was never fully gone either. That type of wishy washy-ness didn't endear Peter to Lily, but now, with what he'd agreed to do for them…

Lily trusted her idiot husband and his idiot pseudo-brother and Sirius had suggested Peter to replace him as their Secret Keeper, because it'd be less obvious, be safer with Peter going into hiding. It was, it was a good idea but would Peter be able to do what Sirius would to keep them safe? To ensure that the Secret was never spoken?

Peter turns, close to the door to address her. He wasn't a particularly attractive man but he smiles something strained as she tries to lessen the gap between them. 'Lily,' he acknowledges, tone shy almost stuttering. Lily silently wondered ho the survived with his strongest friends such formidable men. 'I-I was just on my way out…'

The Fidelius Charm had been cast, and the last of their protections were in place. Still, Lily stares at him and how he can't quite meet her eye as he shifts from one leg to another. 'You'll keep him safe, won't you?' she asks as James and Lily could look after themselves. They are not at as much risk but their son - their son who couldn't yet wield his wand or call upon his magic to help him would be in danger until this war was over.

'Of course I will,' Peter responds and Lily tries to nod in gratitude but she can't help the anxiety even as she says goodbye.

* * *

'Harry…be safe,' she whispered to the winds, a prayer to anything that could hear. 'Be strong.'

They will be her last words to her son, words that Lily hopes beyond hope could somehow reach him; a plea, a desperate appeal to the world on behalf of her baby who'd been born tangled in Fate's marionette strings. She cursed the prophecy, self-filling though it was, that had painted an even larger target on their backs.

It was too late now. In a fit of complacency neither James nor she had their wands on their person, too much time off the front lines lulling them into a false sense of security. It had brought Lily to her knees in front of Harry, whom she had placed in his crib while whispering words she hopes he'll remember, internalise.

The barricade against the door wouldn't last, and she knew like she knew that James would die - would already _be_ dead, that she was soon to follow. _'Take him and run!'_ he'd said, like he didn't know he didn't have a wand. James and put Harry into her arms and forced her to move. Neither of them had been able to say goodbye but that was okay.

It was okay because they'd see each other again, after Harry was safe.

It was why James had sacrificed himself, why Lily had run with her heart in her arms and her life in her eyes. Depositing Harry into his Charmed crib, Lily just hoped it would be enough for their last resort.

Lily gazes into her son's eyes and it's like looking into a mirror that shows her where she has been. She gazes at him and tries not to cry as she whispers words she wishes to imprint onto his very skin, so that during times she will not be there for - for all the things they will miss and be unable to share, he shall only have to look at his own flesh to know where he came from.

Time is always short when it's running out and Lily wants Harry to know between trying to fit an entire lifetime of _I love you's_ in mere moments that living is hard but it is so, _so_ worth it. That there would be misgivings but a thousand blessings to make up for it.

She wants to be able to tell him that hate is heavy and that it its a burden that she doesn't want him to carry, that love is hard to find sometimes but its value is beyond compare. Lily needs to be able to teach Harry that fighting is difficult but there were some battles he wouldn't be able to run away from, that there were some wars that he would have to pick a side to.

But _I love you_ is all Lily can manage; is all she is able to give as the door is blasted open. The wood splinters and rans around them like the very house is mourning the inevitable. Tears sting her own eyes as she looks the murder who had just murdered her husband, the man who'd waited for her, the man who'd given her a beautiful baby boy.

A murderer who'd given everything up, who'd destroyed everything he was and could have been, a coward who'd run away from their reality; from their mortality. A Dark Lord who had made his life so incredibly small.

Lily had never completely seen eye-to-eye with Dumbledore, maybe she was just too _muggle,_ but one of the truest things he'd ever said was Voldemort's beginning. Lily thinks as she stands, Harry at her back, that this could have been prevented.

If there was just little less bigotry, a little more acceptance she would be here to see Harry get his first Hogwarts' letter. Lily might've been able to experience his first trial and error with a broom. She could have met his first friends, teased him on his first crush. She could have congratulated him on his grades or helped tutor him. Lily would have been able to welcome his partner into her home, be able to meet his own blessed children should he have any. Lily would have been able to experience all life's ups and downs with him.

But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride and that was a fantasy. Here and now, the only thing Lily can do to ensure Harry's survival is to give up her own. She would do it without regret because she was his mother. She would do it.

In front of cold, uncaring red eyes, Lily begins to beg, knowing already that he would not see through her. That they forget she is more than just a pretty face despite her forget that her being a muggleborn - a _mudblood -_ doesn't make her any less of a Charms prodigy.

Her own on the the runs on the ceiling and under the carpet had been a secret told unto no one but her husband who would be lying dead downstairs, alone like she was now. Runes she activities as she refuses to move out of the way like Voldemort demands. It's elder magic; Dark, something she'd picked up in one of the books Sirius had given her.

Magic required balance in all things: a life for a life and Lily had no problem with giving Harry what was left of her's.

Harry will live.

She had made sure of it.

* * *

 **Con/textual Vomit:** Okay, this story has been in my files for _ages._ I decided between working on my other updates just to finish this chapter before it gets forgotten in-between other old documents. A bit rough but I actually really think writing Lily :).

The title "Kishi Kaisei" is another Japanese provides that means 'Wake from death and return to life".

Oh! And I know that Charlus Potter and Dorea Potter nee Black have been confirmed _not_ to be James' parents. I also know that the Potter's were not in fact apart of the Sacred Twenty-Eight for some reason (I mean, it says on the wiki that it was for their pro-Muggle viewpoints but c'mon. The _Weasley's_ are on that stupid list. The Potters have to be older, with their connection to the Three Brothers so considered more respectful to the other darker Pureblooded families). Either way, I don't really care. Funny how that works with fan fiction hmmm? XD

 **(Original Upload: 06/ 03/ 17) (09/03/18)**

 **OZ**


	2. Half and In-Between

Sirius Black met his family on the train to Hogwarts. His mother had been furious at having to use a "Mudblood contraption" in order to reach the school - she had owled the Headmaster demanding that her successor be allowed to Portkey in, instead and she was spitting mad when the man had refused. Sirius himself had found a compartment, fascinated with the "steam train" but was still smarting from the Spell he had suffered for his cheek when he had forgotten to bite his tongue this morning.

He was just struggling into his robes when the compartment door opened and his back left was exposed to a pair of round hazel eyes. Sirius froze, his arms spasming in the sleeves he had just pulled them through and his toes curling. He didn't move, didn't move until the owner of those eyes blinked and pushed his friend - a boy Sirius hadn't even noticed - back out again. 'Hold on, Peter.' He mutters as he closes the door back shut again.

Scrambling, Sirius hurried into his shirt. Shouldn't have been lazy, he berates himself. Should have undone the buttons like Regulus is always telling him to instead of just pulling it over his head. His parents had already left their marks in the shapes of silvery scars that ate through the pale of his back, and he didn'tneed anyone seeing that.

He's strangling himself with his tie when there's a knock, strong but not frightening like his father's when he's in a rage (his mother doesn't knock at all). Sirius' breath catches in his throat and waits for a second, wonders if they'll just leave but eventually, he calls in a half-voice his mother would scowl at: 'come in.'

The hazel eyes returns and so has the boy at his back. For a moment they both stare at each other again, Sirius in apprehension (because people aren't meant to see and he's a Black and he's known what that means. It's not unusual for them with their insanity, with their cruelty. He hears the whispers. He knows) and the other with - something else entirely.

The boy - he must be the same age as him - is wearing glasses which are crooked on his nose like he woke up in a rush. His hair which is almost as dark as Sirius' own is so impossibly untidy it speaks of an even bigger hurry. He's in the Hogwarts' slacks and button up, tie nowhere to be seen and his robes were thrown over his arm.

Straight-backed, Hazel Eyes raises his hand in greeting. 'Yo.' He says like he didn't know. Like he hadn't seen. 'Mind if we sit here?'

What do you want? Sirius almost says but nods numbly instead. Watches in shock as Hazel Eyes inclines his head in thanks and drags his friend inside to sit opposite. (The other boy is almost a head shorter, plumper with a more overall face. His hair is lighter and he has an almost nervous disposition.)

It takes until Hazel Eyes raises an eyebrow and asks with some laughter 'are you going to stand all the way there? Mam says it takes hours' for Sirius to collapse back into his own.

It doesn't take long for Hazel Eyes to introduce himself. 'I'm James, by the way.' He grins crookedly. 'James Potter. This here's Peter Pettigrew.'

Potter. Sirius' eyes widen. The Potters were a Light family of a good standing. One his mother was always hissing about; stuff about how they were traitors to their kind and other such things. How Dorea had disgraced herself by marrying that "toerag". And then, the Blacks were Dark. Everyone knew that. It was branded into their very colouring.

Sirius was a Black too. It was an obvious tell. Potter should know. Why was he talking? Why did he sit here? Why why why why why -?

'-Peter's a bit shy. Don't mind him. I've been friends with him since we were children. He lives near the manor, his family. It's great but it'll be brilliant to finally meet other people.' Potter was talking, mouth going a mile a minute with an open expression.

'I'm a Black.' Sirius blurts out in a fit of incredulity. Maybe just to get the words to stop. Maybe for things to just make sense. He had been dealing with the Light since he knew what they were. They looked at him like he was filthy. (And the Dark - the Dark hated him just as much because he could never quite live up to their expectations no matter how hard he tried. And they hurt. They hurt and -)

Potter blinks. 'Cool.' Like the distinction didn't matter and then gets out his wand from his pocket. His fingers curl around it familiarly and Sirius knows then, that like the Black's the Potter's too must have had him practising with substitute wands before taking him for his first and only. 'Mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable with a dragon heartstring core.'

Potter elbows Pettigrew who shifts nervously, eyes flickering to Sirius then back down to his knees before grimacing. He straightens with a smile that's not quite there. 'Chestnut. 9 1/4 inches. Brittle with a dragon heartstring.'

Potter grins before turning back to Sirius with expectant eyes and his heart freezes a second time. It was rude for anyone to ask after someone's wand. It simply wasn't done and yet, his mouth complies. 'Aspen, 12 and a half inches. Quite frigid with - a unicorn hair.' His wand burns a hole in his pocket as Pettigrew's eyes widen and Potter does this blink and a half thing that makes his face look squishy.

He wasn't lying, though. The ivory wand ('white!' His mother had screamed in outrage while Ollivander looked on, deeply unimpressed with her. 'He's picked a white wand!') was his. 'Good for duelling that.' Ollivander had stated while his mother seethed, screaming to his father's dead eyes. The older man had glanced at his parents before leaning over the counter, causing Sirius to look up from the wand that was sparking, shivering with his magic and warm in his palm.

'That wood's good for the determined. The strong-minded who like their adventures. And - and who knows, Heir Black, they're even known to favour the rebel at heart. The revolutionaries. Keep that in mind when you remember you have bonded with a unicorn hair.'

His mother hadn't heard that bit, too caught up in herself but she had still almost not bought his wand. If not for Ollivander insisting that the wand chooses the wizard and picking again, that even if another chose Sirius, it would never quite work for him. His mother probably would have forced another more "appropriate" wand on him.

But then Potter was smiling. It looked different from his grins somehow. 'I'm not surprised.' The boy tells Sirius.

Not surprised?

Sirius shakes his head. 'I'm a -'

'Theres something different about you, I can tell.' Potter tells him, tapping his glasses with his index finger as he stares at Sirius. 'Lets be different together.'

Something in Sirius breaks a little.

(He never quite figures out it was the barriers he's had up for so long.)

* * *

It doesn't take long from there. The train ride is all too short as Sirius starts to talk. Even Lupin who'd started with reading a book almost as wide as his head when he had first come in, seemed both slow and shy. Now he was slowly starting to join in as Potter talked.

And Lupin obviously had a story too. He was another Half-Blood who had joined them half-way through the journey; seemed to have been kicked out a few other compartments with light brown hair and even lighter green eyes. The scars which were shredded through his face, that few creatures could make that said as much and yet, Potter didn't seem to care.

However long the train ride was, it wasn't long enough.

Because he knew, at least, where Potter would end up. (Lupin, was maybe a Ravenclaw, he had figured from the book alone. Pettigrew…Pettigrew he honestly couldn't hazard a guess towards.) It would be where everything bold and brave ended up.

Sirius knew that from when Potter had walked back into the compartment, had sat down where three others throughout the journey, at one look at Sirius (at recognising a Black) had turned back around, that he would be a Gryffindor.

Maybe that - maybe that was why after a boat ride and a speech and a song that didn't really explain anything. That Sirius chose. That Sirius chose something different.

'Hmm…let's see. Quite a bit about you, now isn't there, Heir Black?' The Hat had said once it had been placed over his head but Sirius was barely listening with his hands fisted in his lap and his heart beating out of his chest. 'Oh! Look at this mind. Plenty of cunning in you, isn't there? I'm never quite sure if Blacks are simply wily by nature or if you have to grow like that but….now what's this?'

'I want Gryffindor.' Sirius thinks as he bites his lip until he tastes copper. 'I want to be a -'

'Oh?' The Hat hums. 'Now isn't that interesting. Gryffindor? Wouldn't that be difficult? That isn't something to say mildly, Heir Black. It could make for quite an uncomfortable Hogwarts experience for you.'

Blacks' had always been Slytherin. Sirius was meant to be Slytherin.

Sirius didn't care.

People would think what they would. They always did and it's not like his parents could get any worse.

'I see.' The hat says suddenly after a silence. 'Being brave isn't the absence of fear. Being brave is having that fear but finding a way through. Choosing to be brave is still bravery and takes more strength than someone who inherently is. Remember that, Heir Black, as life's struggles, find you. Do not let this new found courage desert you.'

The Hat calls "GRYFFINDOR" out into a hall quietly muttering in confusion. Sirius is both elated and terrified. His mind hovers between the panic of what have I done? To: I did it and back again as McGonagall takes the Hat off. He barely registers her shocked face as the hems of his robes turn red and a lion transforms from the Hogwarts crest, which settles over his heart.

He struggles to make it to the Gryffindor table with his shaking legs. Sirius can hear every step with how silent it has gotten until -

'WHOOO! Way ta go, Sirius!' James screams through a cheer, clapping his hands ecstatically as he jumps on the spot in the as he waits to be sorted. Sirius looks over and a smile blooms across his face. It feels odd. He doesn't know when the last time he smiled was, maybe when he was told his mother was pregnant; back when he thought that to have a sibling would matter; would change anything. His mother says it's a weak expression. He finds himself caring about that a little less as he waves back like an idiot and finds a seat near the end of the bench.

Sirius ignores the way a few shuffle away from him until only a redhead was left. She looked at the others who had moved before putting her nose in the air like she had smelt something foul. Carrying her plate over, the girl shifts into the placement next to Sirius' before making a point to introduce herself. 'Lily Evans.' She said as she offered her hand and right away he knew that she was a Muggleborn.

He took her hand with something of a relish and shook it like he never had before. Sirius only let go after he turned her small hand over and gently kissed the back. 'Sirius Black.' He offered back to her red cheeks and many wide-eyed stares.

It was worth it.

(And not years later, would Sirius regret that decision.)

* * *

Sirius finds he likes to laugh. James makes that possible, helps him see all a human can be. He makes friend's with Pettigrew who grows less wary of him and Lupin who (regardless of books, whatever their size or quantity he reads) was also sorted into Gryffindor.

He has friends. People who care. People who help him with his homework or his way off the pitch after taking a nasty fall from his broom. People who berate anyone who calls him a snake, who don't let him join in or move away from him when he's close. They're people who try their best with his scars and things he doesn't like to talk about.

It's why, when a boy near the back of Potion class throws an ingredient into James' and Remus' potion that Sirius all but loses his mind. The Black "madness" was not lost on him. There was a reason why near everyone knew about it. It was the only way to explain how he snapped when he saw it explode in their faces, mouth still opening to yell out a warning as the scorching potion bursts over the two who barely have time to flinch back.

Sirius had seen it happen from his desk behind them, Peter just turned towards him to ask a question or some such. (Peter wasn't - well, he wasn't very good at Potions. It just wasn't his thing. Herbology was his best subject.) He was giving his current goo a quarter stir when his eyes catch a movement from the opposite side of the class.

Snape. His mind sizzles. It's midway through their third year and they didn't have much of a problem with the guy other than his problem with James' growing crush (and oh, Merlin, did that boy ever have it bad) on Evans. A spitfire redhead with the most unusual green eyes Sirius had ever seen. She was great at Charms and just about everything else, with a wit so sharp you could cut yourself on it if you weren't careful. That there was a kindness in her that you just didn't see often. She was tenacious and stubborn and never afraid to speak her mind.

Her auburn hair had always caught James' eye. Sirius knew he liked to stare at her but his feelings didn't develop until he caught her Hexing Malfoy who had just degraded her and another. Evans was clever and knew that with the small-time, hard to detect Spell she had cast would be too high a price for Malfoy to tell anyone about it. Evans had earned Malfoy's eternal hatred that day which seemed only equal to James' eternal devotion.

It was to a point where people had started to notice. Sure Sirius teased but housemates were snickering, teachers were grinning knowingly and James was embarrassed to all Avalon and back. Snape - Snape who had stuck to Evans like a bad disease despite being a Slytherin and having friends who actively hated her and everyone who shared her blood had taken to very obviously, very obsessively staring at James who tried to get to know his "friend".

Sirius had noticed it because he recognised that type of behaviour - smelt the danger - knew that, that would just simmer. And now -

Now their professor was rushing to James and Remus who were splattered with undone, sabotaged potion. Their skin was red and blistering, more so James than Remus but their screams were equally pained.

Sirius was used to that. He was used to listening to someone's hurt whether it be his or someone else's but he had thought that that had been the worst of it until they started to fit.

Sirius' vision tunnelled and he watched numbly with Peter's nails digging into his arm as his friends twitched and jerked on the floor. It wasn't until someone went sprinting out of the class and returned with Madam Pomfrey that James and Remus were being levitated back out, presumably on to the Hospital Wing.

Everyone else was starting to settle. Sirius was anything but calm. A howl left him, it rattled in his throat; must have sounded like a beast's roar as Peter jerked away and sent Bones' back into another table's potion but all he could see was a small smile on an ugly, cruel, conniving face and then all thought was lost to him.

He pounced over the work table and attacked Snape like a muggle. Punched the hideous, hateful boy in the face until it was gushing redredredred. Hit until something in his hand cracked and he was being pulled away - away - away and through his snarls, there was a whispered word before all was lost to darkness.

He woke up in the Hospital wing with a detention from there to forever, a broken hand, scratches on his face courtesy of Snape and a very unimpressed Head of House watching him. Sirius didn't excuse him. Didn't explain. He bore every punishment McGonagall set (since apparently, no one else had seen Snape throw whatever the fuck it had been - and that break to his sanity was considered just that. Because of course, that situation had been stressful, two of his best friends has been injured and he was a Black, wasn't he?) He listened to it all. Heard every word McGonagall did and didn't say.

He listened and poison festered in his heart.

Sirius would remember this, he would remember what Snape did. Forgetting would be impossible, forgiving even more so.

(It would be the start and end of everything.)

* * *

He and James knew the secret Remus was keeping before they were ever told. They were Purebloods from very old families so it wasn't much of a stretch with all they were taught growing up that they figured it out but Sirius still appreciated being told. Even if it was after a very long wait and in some abandoned corner of a cafe in Muggle London (because who says a Hogsmeade weekend had to say, stay in Hogsmeade?).

Remus was shifty, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. He was refusing to look at them as he stared down at the Muggle money he had pulled from his pocket in preparation to pay. None of them but Remus would have anything but Gallons, though they had talked about converting some - digressing! Remus really had taken awhile to work up the courage to speak.

'So…I - I suppose you've noticed that I - I sleep a lot.' Remus began, his cheekbones flushed with shame which highlighted the scars that went through one side of his face.

Sirius nodded and knew his two friends were doing the same. Remus napped quite a bit; could fall asleep anywhere so much so that they had learnt that one Summoning Spell early so that they weren't carrying around blankets, which had been a thing for awhile.

'And that I get…sick.' Remus attempted to continue.

They nod again and Sirius knows to keep his mouth shut because this is simply something Remus needs to say himself. Even if his friend did look he was about to face a dementor with nothing but a rusty spork.

'I'm -' Remus begins before stopping again. His eyes dart up to look at each of them before they snap to the cafe and the muggles who were staring at them like they were something queer. 'I'm a werewolf.'

Finally, Sirius think as he closes his eyes.

* * *

'Evans.' Sirius calls out to her.

Lily turns in her seat after a brief pause before giving him a spiteful look. For whatever reason, she was sticking by Snape despite his pitch black heart. It almost spoke credit to her if she wasn't completely blinded by him. Lily only saw their retaliation to Snape and never Snape's actions against them. It didn't make them perfect - Sirius would do worse - but it didn't make Snape better either.

(And with his mother's darling Dark Lord raising the death count from a few missing and a bit of destruction in Muggle cities, James grew more and more desperate to get Lily away from Snape before he could ruin her.)

'What.' Her voice is sharp and there is a warning in that word but Sirius ignores it. He was on a mission and he needed help.

'I need something.' He tells her as he slides into a chair on the opposite side of her own in the library.

Lily glares. 'And why should I -?'

'Its for Remus.' Sirius interrupts because they were…close all things considered. They had a lot in common with their books and fondness of both Muggle literature and music (something Sirius had also started to appreciate. Just last month Remus had introduced him to a thing called "Rock" and oh, but it was glorious -). They also occasionally studied together. James was very jealous.

They'd probably get on better if Remus wasn't a "Marauder" (a name given to them by one particular ghost). Though he could be just as devious. It was just to his own skill that he could fool everyone so well.

'Remus?' Lily asks hesitantly, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders.

Sirius nods. 'I need a book.'

'A present?' Lily guesses with the knowledge that Remus' birthday isn't far off but Sirius shakes his head.

'I need a book for Animagi.'

Lily's glare is back and it's just as angry as before. 'Don't lie to me, Black. This isn't for -'

Sirius huffs a pained, exaggerated sigh. 'Think about how Remus is always sick every time the moon is full. Think about that and then come back to me.'

Lily's smart. One of the smartest in their year.

It doesn't take a few days before there's a book sitting innocently on Sirius' bedsheets and he reckons two of those are spent finding it.

* * *

He squirrelled James and Peter away while Remus was being busy pretending to be a Prefect. (Because once a prankster, always a prankster no matter what any pin said.) He showed them the book and explained for Peter how this was important.

The first step: Occlumency.

The problem with that came after a month and they were starting to make headway. James and Peter were okay, 'sides for some increase in memories long thought lost. For Sirius it was torture.

It was remembering his mother as she Cursed him. As his father touched him -

No! NO! **NO!**

Sirius broke away from his bed, jerking up so hard that he tumbled off his mattress. He in his rush of movement pulled his neck. He barely noticed as he breathed like he had run a Muggle marathon. He was sweaty with terror bearing down on him and his limbs trembling like he had been hit with an Unforgivable. He looked around the darkness of his dorm, the shapes that once gave him comfort in their familiarity now left him jumping at every shadow.

He crawled to James' bed without thought, without a moment of consideration to his pride. Sirius pulled back his friend's bed curtain but couldn't quite make it into the bed for all he struggled; could barely move as he fought to breathe. Any second now his mother's wand would be in his face; his father's hand would be on his back, between his -

'Sirius?'

The voice was groggy but James was propped up, half turned towards Sirius and rubbing his eyes clear. 'James.' Sirius' voice strangles and suddenly James is moving, eyes wide and worried but his hands are gentle even as they strain themselves to lift Sirius' dead weight into bed.

James somehow manages it after the fourth try where Sirius was starting to think that he would be left for his parents to hurt him in the dark, a sob working its way through his panic when his friend hefts him onto his warm mattress, quickly shutting the bed curtains behind them and patting around for his wand to perform a quick Silencing Spell.

Sirius can feel James fumbling as he collapses against him; knows its safe in these arms to relax and find solace in as they clutch at him just a bit too tight.

The next morning, Sirius wakes up where he went to sleep with James looking at him like he's afraid Sirius will disappear. The dorm is quiet; empty. It's obviously late in the day and Sirius doesn't care, halfway between deep embarrassment and brazen carelessness.

'You don't have to do this.' James says finally and Sirius has never taken such comfort in morning breath before. 'I can try hard enough for the both of us.'

'Yeah.' Sirius responds, closing his eyes as his forehead presses against James' chest. He can barely free the button sticking into his forehead. 'Yeah, I do.'

* * *

Step 2: mediation.

For obvious reasons, this is hard. Black's don't have very good mental capacities as Sirius is well aware of but he sits and tries and tries.

"Fake it until you make it" is the expression he had heard Lily utter once.

Yeah, that.

Little by little, it starts to help.

* * *

Steps 4 to 10 don't bear thinking about (neither do those blasted leafs) and the first shift even less so. In fact, the only instance Sirius likes to remember of one of their first transformations is when James got stuck with antlers for three hours and ended up hiding in an abandoned classroom they had been using for practice while the rest of them went back to class without him.

'Look at those prongs!' Sirius jokingly marvelled through pain as his bones still ached and his muscles were still protesting from his own shifts into doghood. But the pain was something he was used to and this at least was for something good.

James had glared though his mouth jerked, not at all as mad as he was trying to portray. 'D-do not make me stab you with these things, Paws.'

'Thats an awful nickname.' Sirius had laughed a brief bark.

'I'll work on it.' James promises and he was good at his word. "Padfoot" came into existence not long afterwards.

* * *

It's a full moon and they meet Remus at the Shrieking Shack. They had followed him and only let him know they were there when they had gotten well out of sight from Hogwarts. Predictably Remus doesn't react well. So close to his time of the month, he's all but violent.

'What were you thinking?!' Remus yells at them, voice hoarse. He's not a shouter, not at all and Sirius almost flinches back on instinct but trust keeps him steady and in place. 'If this is a joke then it's not bloody funny! Go back - go back before you get us all killed!'

There's desperation and hurt, fuelled with something else that Sirius can't name as Remus' eyes get steadily more ember. His change was near but they can't let him go into it with such negative thoughts. They might have explained this to him first but they didn't want him to try and talk them out of this.

'You know, Messrs Padfoot, I think Moony here is under a misunderstanding.' James nudges him, his tone is calm and his eyes are direct.

'I think you're right, Messrs Prongs.' Sirius agrees easily even as Remus, hunched over but watching them with a confoundedness that any other day would be funny frowns at them. 'Messrs Wormtail, don't you think it prudent that we…say, let the animals out of the bag?'

Peter nods, his smile growing even if he's a bit pale. 'Too right.'

They take a breath together and shift.

Remus' expression is a picture.

* * *

It could have been the fresh wounds that were going to scar and bruises that ached. It could have been the fallout with his brother and the new mark he carried on his arm but Sirius had very little patience. James noticed early, since first spotting him in their compartment. James just tended to know things and Sirius' mood was one of them.

The thing about James though, was he never demands an explanation. Never forces him to talk. He simply sat down next to Sirius, took one hard look at Sirius slumped form and the way he was clutching at his arm and gently started to try and pry it from Sirius' other hand which was clutched around his elbow.

Sirius grits his teeth and doesn't say a word as they rearranged themselves until he was all but on Jame's lap and James was trying to uncurl his fingers on his injured arm. Sirius hisses but refuses to make a sound even when his friend glances up at him with hot anger and deep sadness when James gets Sirius out of his robes and then his shirt. It is a long, drawn out process and Remus and Peter should have found them by now -

'Sorry, Padfoot.' James says as he jostles Sirius by accident as the train suddenly pulls to a start.

Sirius shakes his head but looks away as his skin is finally revealed and concentrates at all the noise of the train; its wheels, its shrill whistle. The other students who are still trying to find somewhere to sit -

'Sirius.' James breathes.

And this - this is the worst part of having someone who cares.

* * *

His injuries this time took months to heal as it was more than what James and Remus between them could fix. (James' speciality was transfiguration and Remus was near good at anything but healing was not something that came easily to him probably due to his lycanthropy but they learnt for him. Both had research until even a few teachers had questioned if either had any interest in being a Healer.)

Sirius was still short-tempered and irritable. He answered most questions from teachers with monosyllables, was vicious in Quidditch to the point where there was talk of him being pulled from the team and his pranks bordered on cruel.

During this time he was helping to make a map. It was honestly for security as they were all getting just a bit paranoid as the war got to the point where it could truly be called a war without people frowning at "exaggerations"; no need to fear monger after all. (Whatever that was meant to mean, people were dying.) It also had the added benefits of being great for pranks though Sirius was in little mood for jokes.

He was sore and he knew without a doubt that if he returned to his parents next holiday like they had demanded with his stance on this Dark-Light conflict, he might not get back to Hogwarts' next term. That, and his brother - Regulus -

He was awful. People were whispering. People were noticing. James had taken to following him, just a foot or two behind ('to keep you from doing something you'd regret.' Had been said which nearly resulted in an argument. They never argued.)

And then - then he notices Snape poking around the Shrieking Shake. Asking questions. Snape knew. Snape was trying to hurt Remus. Snape never fucking stopped, did he? Sirius was going to make him stop -

He confronts Snape; tells him to turn up at a meeting place.

(And there, at that one moment is one of his biggest regrets.)

(Not that Sirius was trying to kill Snape. The fact that, that bastard survives was another. No, it was that Remus had been used as the tool. That he had hurt Remus in Snape's place.)

* * *

Remus was too forgiving but even then he couldn't look at Sirius. James pulled him aside. 'You can't go back again.'

'What?' Sirius said. He hadn't felt calmer or more miserable in months and he wasn't keeping up well; with all that he had missed in his moment of Black's madness.

'To your - parents. You can't go back.' James tells him with eyes like Sirius has never seen before. 'We're…Sirius. I think I'm gonna lose you if you do. I think you'll lose yourself.'

Sirius' heart freezes in his chest and his mind goes back to the Hat and Ollivander and suddenly the weight of the wand in his pocket is a burden he doesn't think he can bear. It is, still, as it always will be, a wand that no Black could hold. Could use or would. It would not allow Dark magic, would not allow what was starting to perish in himself.

(And Sirius had noticed the sudden resistance his wand was giving him. He had just thought - well, he hadn't. And then, Sirius knew he was falling.)

Sirius swallows and nods. The day his wand rejects him is the day that Sirius loses everything he has come to love; is the day that he loses everyone who matters. It's the day he becomes his parents and all he despises.

James squeezes his shoulder like he doesn't want to let go and his eyes behind his glasses are tight.

* * *

It is primary that, that has Sirius running from his house, his parents and all their evils. He knew that if he didn't he would become something he wouldn't recognise. (It is perhaps also that that truly forces Regulus to take Sirius' place.)

Getting blasted off of that wall…it feels like an accomplishment.

Sirius makes it the Potter's manor via the Knight Bus and has to walk through the miles of grounds and struggle with the wards until he reaches the front stairs. The Potter's must have sensed him long before because they're standing there (James and his parents) in their night clothes, waiting until he crosses the boundary. James doesn't even hold back for Sirius to make it the last step before he's tackling Sirius into a hug, the worry evident but also the relief.

'You're staying, Padfoot,' James states. 'Even if you're not house broken.'

Sirius huffs a laugh and looks at the kind face of Charlus Potter and then the compassionate one of Dorea Potter nee Black. Her eyes speak a thousand stories, emphatic like their silently saying: I know. I've been where you've stood. And When James introduces him, the way she bows - like is traditional - before pulling him to a brief hug - which is anything but - says it all.

* * *

Sirius is given his own room. It's painted a peachy sort of red that's warm and comfortable. The bed's grand but has a certain softness to it and there are a desk and a window, an en-suite and a walk in wardrobe. They could have made him sleep outside and Sirius would still have felt like part of the family.

They've all but adopted him and he comes to understand, from them, what family and love are meant to mean.

Dorea though she looks every inch as unforgiving as the proudest of Black's has gentled with age - maybe even marriage - and had come to see him a few nights after his first. The talk was enlightening and her parting words were splashed with humour. 'Truly, The Potter's can brighten just about anything.' Dorea had told him in a hushed whisper like she was betraying a whisper. 'Its the eyes. They can see potential. My old fool knew right away that he wanted me, even when I was so sure of my own path. I'm glad my son inherited his eyes from his father. It's arguably his best trait. The hair, though, the hair.'

And Sirius laughs.

* * *

It is in the heat of the war. He's chosen his side, well and truly, but he's just come back from this detention that had had Dorea send a Howler (so very different from the special kind of treatment his own mother gave him) and no one would look at him.

Sirius knows something's wrong. The Common Room quietened down from whatever noise there had been and everyone's eyes were averted. He thinks about how many points he lost yesterday but quickly shakes that away.

He ponders it. His only conclusions lead to something unfortunate and he's about to ask when Frank steps forward, Alice Elwyn at his side. Frank is a sort-of friend. A nice bloke whose a joint Chaser with James so they saw quite a lot of each other with him and Alice as Beater's. They talked some but never spent that much time together out of meals and practice.

(Frank was closer to James but that was fair. The Longbottom and Potter families had been allied through the generations.)

What Sirius notices, however, is Frank's grim face and Alice's glassy eyes. 'Sirius…' Frank begins helplessly as he glances to Alice.

'T-the paper.' Alice stutters. 'It was…The Potter's -'

Sirius' stomach leaves him and he knows before they finish.

Frank closes his eyes. 'They were killed yesterday, fighting. They saved a - a lot of people but… They got separated from their group.' He said. There was a rush of buzzing and voice slowly got smaller and smaller. 'They've - they've been killed. I'm - I know you were close to the Potter's. I'm - I'm very sorry.'

They've been killed.

Sirius thinks about Dorea's few and genuine smiles; the one soul he found that understood his struggles; the one guiding light he had had. They've been killed. Sirius thinks about Charlus and the man's laugh - how he was always so quick to laugh - his warm voice and his smile. Sirius thinks about the two that had taken him in without question and had treated Sirius like he belonged there; with no reluctance but with warmth and affection.

Sirius thinks about the couple who had loved him enough to be displeased with him but care despite it and never be disappointed or ashamed -

Sirius wasn't even aware that his knees hit the Common Room floor seconds later.

* * *

There were points in time where Sirius had thought very exasperatedly negative thoughts about Lily Evans however much he liked her but anything bad that had ever crossed his mind he wiped away, as she went on to spend all her free time not only picking James up but Sirius too.

And really, James seemed to be in a state of numb shock. He was dealing. Kept hold of Lily like they had a Permanent Sticking Charm on each other, couldn't leave a room without Sirius and was keeping an eye on any other friend with an obsession that was unhealthy. Sirius himself wasn't well and didn't realise how bad they were until years later.

Meantime, he found himself crawling into James' bed to a point where it was now a common occasion. No one commented on it, nor did anyone mention Lily's presence in the boy's dorm either. She was in the middle of the bed with an arm around James' shoulders and hearing Sirius' entrance she opened the other for him so he could shuffle into her embrace. James' only acknowledgement that Sirius was there was the sudden tight arm around his waist.

It must have been uncomfortable for Lily having nearly two fully grown teenagers on top of her as she held them both, but she did like it was her duty to carry them. Like by simply holding them was enough to protect them. It wasn't but it helped and Sirius promised himself in his few hours of awareness to pay it forward.

* * *

'What do you think?' James asks with a smile that spanned from one ear to his other, so wide Sirius was half curious how his face wasn't broken but he obligingly took the black box from his friend and carefully flicked it open. Inside, between a slit of a velvet cushion sat a ring, proud and bold just like James but with enough beauty to it that it matched a creature such as Lily.

The band was gold with a woven platinum strand, in its centre was a diamond that was as large as a person's forefinger's nail and which had been carved into a flower.

Sirius smiled. 'Its perfect.'

Honestly, the Wizarding World didn't really do rings and he was sure that James wouldn't have insisted so upon one instead of the courting torque and then bonding cuffs, if not for who was getting asked. James didn't want to scare her off though Sirius knew he had, had a torque custom made for Lily, something which still sat in a box in a drawer somewhere. (Potter bonding cuffs would also be in his vaults.)

And, honestly, Lily was in this for keeps. She wasn't a fickle person though she was more than capable of saying goodbye to people, it wouldn't be because of a difference in cultural traditions. She would be flattered if it was explained to her but it wasn't for Sirius to say so he left it alone.

Nervously, James nodded as Sirius handed the ring back. He hadn't seen James like this since Lily had accepted his offer to a date after years of asking. James straightened his clothes again. 'Do I look okay?'

Sirius could joke but in this one thing, he never would. 'You'll make her knees go weak. Now get outta here before you're late. Show her a good time. We both know she's not going to say anything but yes.'

James swallowed as he was pocketing the box. He nodded like his head was too heavy for him but he stood from his chair and started to leave. 'Just remember you'll be my best man, Padfoot.' He informs Sirius just as he opens the door.

It closes to Sirius' gaping mouth which only works in his favour because soon as the shock fades there are tears stinging.

'That wasn't a question, jerk.' Sirius manages to choke, grinning so hard that it hurts. James is still close enough to hear and laughs his way out of the front door.

* * *

Lily and James' wedding is but a flutter in the distance, they've got jobs (aurors. Fun. Note the sarcasm? Yeah, it's not what its made out to be in the paper. The Ministry is bloody useless), responsibilities and they've even joined the Order. Sirius fights the Death Eaters, has killed a fair number and every time he strikes one down his mind always thinks could that be Regulus? Please don't be Regulus.

It's hard and trying and he's added to his number of scars but his friendships are still strong. Sirius goes to the Godric's Hollow, stops himself from growling at the cat at the doorway and announces his presence instead by shouting his welcome. Worryingly it takes several seconds before there's an answer.

'Upstairs, Sirius.' Lily calls tiredly.

Sirius glanced around, feels on edge but there are no disturbances around the house and a Revealing Spell proves only two humans are here. His magic recognises them, even that far away so Sirius steps out of his shoes and walks up the stairs and allows himself entrance to the happy couple's bedroom.

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. When they do, Sirius sees Lilly and James curled up in bed and it looks anything but happy. They are clinging to each other, desperate and needy. He stares for a moment but continues forward after taking his jacket and belt off when James reaches out for him with a look that says he's just woken up and isn't all there yet.

Sirius' kneels on the mattress, feels it dip under him and clasps hold of James hand over Lily's form. He waits for a moment - because they're older now and these two are married and he doesn't want to overstep - but Lily simply shifts closer to James, offering Sirius more room and he takes it. Curls up against her as James pulls them all together with the grip he has on Sirius' hand.

Sirius tries to get comfortable but there's a pit in him that should be his stomach so he has to ask. 'Whats wrong?'

It takes a moment for them to answer him but when they do, Sirius understands.

'We're gonna have a baby.'

* * *

There's a baby in Sirius' arms. A baby. Newly born and so, so special. He's not even spoken his first words yet or walked his first steps and there's already so much riding on this one tiny life. Sirius hates prophecies and won't let something as flimsy as an un-adventured path dedicate his future.

Harry was Lily's pick and Sirius can't bring himself to put the baby down though his arms are aching. There's a stinging to his eyes and his throat feels strangely tight but - but he doesn't even like babies! They're small and breakable, pink and wrinkly. They don't do anything.

And yet, Sirius found himself loving Harry.

'Sirius.' Lily murmured with exhaustion that was easy to see with her hair plastered to her forehead and neck. Her eyes were barely visible as she struggled to keep them open even as she observed him. James' holding her up like his greatest fear at this moment, was for her to vanish like some kind of dream but his smiles big even if its crushed with stress and fear.

'Yeah?' Sirius replies but can't quite look away.

'We think you should be godfather.'

Sirius' head snaps up so fast he thinks he loses it.

* * *

He's talking to Frank until he's not. His Wellness Alarm is triggered - set off and suddenly he's dropping his drink, his everything. Doesn't hear Frank as he sprints away because he's got to go. There's only one way to exit the Ministry and that way is not quick but he needs to leave - needs to have been gone five minutes ago.

Sirius can't remember his journey, he barely remembers entering Godric's Hollow. All he sees is the dead cat and knows. The door is ajar, his useless key burns his hands and when he pushes the barrier away Sirius can't even get a foot inside before his heart breaks.

James.

His friend is twenty-one. He is a father of a gorgeous baby boy and the husband to the best woman around. They are the most wonderful people anyone could imagine. They've put themselves in harm's way for no other reason than they think it's what's right. They saved Sirius from his parents, from himself.

And all that stops and ends with James lying still on the stairs.

He's lying on the stairs. Not moving. Not -

breathing.

James' eyes are closed. His glasses are crooked on his nose like he woke up in a rush, his hair is almost as dark as Sirius' own is so impossibly untidy that speaks of an even bigger hurry. Sirius chokes, doesn't think, doesn't check the area like he's been taught. Like an auror should. He stumbles forward, hands reach out; all Sirius ever had to do - all either one of them had to do - was reach out and -

James is still warm. Still warm but empty of life.

James is twenty-one. A father and a husband. Sirius' best friend; his **brother** in all but blood.

James is a father and a husband - a father and a - -

'LILY!' Sirius bellows as he finds his feet. Can't feel his legs. Has to stand over - to - to get to the stairs. He trips, once, twice. Falls and nearly breaks his face on the landing. 'LILY! HARRY!'

Sirius thinks of green eyes. Panics, can't remember which ones which as he scrambles for the nursery - he had helped paint it. They had all helped paint it. He had gotten them all plastered and they had laughed -

That door is smiling wide now. Broken. Sirius' eyes drop down to red. Always red; Lily's hair, more auburn like a rose faded in the sunlight. James loves her hair, would take any excuse to wrap his fingers around it - and she's been left in a heap. A wonderful woman. A beautiful woman who had put up with everything life threw at her - who was a fighter and who stood up for her beliefs and forced herself to be strong -

She was laying in a heap.

"You cannot die with dignity. You can only live with it" Sirius remembers the quote but can't recall if its Muggle or not because somewhere along the way that had all blurred together and he remembers and remembers and remembers and remembers -

There's a cry.

Sirius jerks and - Harry.

Harry.

Precious little Harry with his big green eyes and impossible hair. Baby Harry with a future too big, too asking. Harry who was smothered in love to make up for the world who would rather just smother him.

Sirius runs to him, throwing himself to his knees in front of his godson. The baby he had spoiled but never enough - never enough because there was never time or it simply wasn't the right time in a world so broken, so awful that they were fighting for it so much they couldn't live within it. Harry's bleeding with a wound that wasn't there before - and oh, but if Sirius could just wipe that off of Harry's beautiful face - but he's alive and reaching back for Sirius.

Sirius picks him up, holds him close and thinks he cries.

Then Hagrid comes.

* * *

Sirius knew now what he didn't back when he was eleven and struggling with where he thought Peter should be placed. He hadn't guessed Gryffindor; hadn't been sure. Peter had taken a long time under the Hat and was considered one of the few hatstalls in Hogwart's history.

But Sirius knows now.

Peter was a Slytherin.

And isn't that funny? Sirius thinks as he's left to laugh, utterly defeated and on his knees in a destroyed Muggle street. Isn't that funny? He thinks he's laughing. He isn't sure. It's funny because there's something to say about nature or some such shit like that.

Sirius had been running all his life from what he was and thought he could be better with what his wand said about him, with James and his friends and through the choices he made.

Why was that different for Peter?

Why couldn't Peter choose to be better?

And Sirius hadn't known - would never have guessed - had suggested they switch the Secret Keeper to Peter. Remus would have been better obviously but there were doubts. Of course, there were. Remus was a dark creature and - on looking back, who had first brought up those concerns? Peter. Funny, that.

Sweet, little Peter. Nervous Peter. Backstabbing, friend-murdering, **kin-slaying** scum Peter. Wormtail. His form had never suited him more. Maybe that was another warning? How ironic. How funny.

Sirius thinks about Wormtail's face before he had transformed, thinks it reminds him of Snape. He feels sick but the laughter buries it. Because it's all so funny.

Peter knew everything about him. Knew his struggle with the Dark, with his own mind and had concocted this and it was perfect. Wormtail was a Death Eater and had set Sirius up for the perfect fall. It was idiot prove and just look at the results.

A hand slaps itself down on his trembling shoulder but he's still laughing. It's an auror with another four behind. 'Black? What happened -?'

'My fault' he laughs for not seeing. 'My fault' he laughs for thinking switching the Secret Keeper was a good idea. 'My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault.'

And then there's someone trying to shake but they don't understand. A wand is pointed in his face. This - this is -

Blackness.

Sirius will wake up thirteen years later.

* * *

 **Con/textual Vomit:** Okay, this was really hard to write. Once I started I couldn't stop. Its not 5 am. I hope someone likes this other _I_ might be the one in hysterics. So I think I need to point some stuff out here before I go try and sleep before I ruin my sleep _again._

 _So._ Sirius' Wand. I tried wiki-ing it and its not there. So I had to come up with it _and_ James' core for that matter. I choose Aspen and unicorn hair in the end after a lot of researching. Why? I loved the irony. Aspen was _ivory._ Just. Sorry. I can't babble about that. I choose Dragon heartstring for James because people would expect it to be the other way round with Dragon heartstring more lent towards the Dark.

This whole chapter really was a battle with oneself. I wanted that to be really obvious. Sirius in my head is a really complicated character because his his life ruined him. His wand spoke of his potential while that was destroyed no matter the decisions he made.

And while he was trying to make all the right choices, someone else wasn't. My mum is always telling me to "be careful who you involve in your life. It only takes one". Everyone knew what was going to happen with Peter but - I'm actually a little pleased with this.

I also managed to get that fail break down in there of "Black madness" which contributed with Sirius being seen as a maniac so the arrest could happen. Something Peter countered on. Oh! And that thing about Peter nearly being chosen for Slytherin ? I didn't make that up. (Nor am I implying that I think all Slytherin's are evil.)

This is sort of early access. I still need to proofread it so _please_ be kind. I just need to sleep first but I thought hey - don't put it off thats how things get delayed for months at a time **= fixed, I think.**

 **(Original upload: 12/ 03/ 17) (Updated: 29/ 04/ 17)**

 **OZ**


	3. Freak Dreams

Freak dreams in colour.

He dreams of red: red for her hair, like roses. Red like the blood on his knee. Red like the walls and the colour of his sweater. Red like the flowers in the living room and the paint on the ceiling, above where he slept. Blood like the monster's eyes as he glares down at him.

He dreams of yellow: yellow for tired hair and matching eyes. Yellow for his plastic knife and fork. Yellow for the flowers in the kitchen window, wilting but surviving in the darker months. Yellow for the tie the rat wore the last he visited with two legs.

He dreams of blue: blue for the sky. Blue like the rug he used to play on, that he was learning to walk on. Blue like the bruises he sees hidden under collared shirts. Blue for plasters with rabbits on them. Blue for his first and last birthday cake. Blue like the tears that trail down her cheeks as she whispers words he can't always hear.

He dreams of black: black for kind, laughing eyes. Black for course, thick fur. Black for a toy bear with a red ribbon that used to watch him dream. Black for the marks under their eyes that they try to hide. Black for the cloak of shadows that forced its way through into the warmth and the security. Black for searing pain that encompasses him, worse than anything his relatives have done to him.

And then he dreams of green: green like her eyes that shined back to him in the mirror and in photos. Green like the garden and the plants. Green for love and living. Green like -

Green like the light that stops her, that leaves her still.

Green like the light that cuts into him, that leaves him in a nightmare.

Freak dreams in colour and sometimes that hurts but…it's still better than the monochrome that he lives in, alone and in the dark that he is kept inside; like the colours are trapped inside of him.

* * *

Freak sleeps with spiders. One in particular visiting him in the shadows. He visits Freak every night and talks to him. It helps Freak practice talking as he will listen where people will not. Where other's ignore him, his spider does not.

It is worth the hours of sleep it costs him; sleep is hard to come by with an empty stomach or with a limb twisted the wrong way or when his Uncle has recoloured him purples and blues and yellows for every little thing.

Freak waits for his spider ever night, he waits until his Aunt cleans his room out along with his bucket after he got ill. She screams when she sees his rather large, fury friend and runs. When she returns with a broom Freak tries to stop her only he's as useless to do that as he is to stop the green light.

He gets thrown back into the hallway wall and when he wakes up again, his spider is gone and he is alone.

* * *

He is told from a very young age that he doesn't belong here and that he gets everything he deserves. He is told that his father was a good for nothing drunk and that his mother was a whore and that they had both died because they had run a red light.

His Aunt told him that was how he got his scar and to never forget.

He doesn't.

* * *

Oil spits and so does Dudley. Oil is hot and Dudley makes Freak's skin burn with fists and feet and teeth. Oil is what he uses to cook food he is not allowed to eat and Dudley is someone he can't be. Sometimes, Freak thinks he hates both. Sometimes he knows he does and then he wants to be better.

Sometimes he wants to have what Dudley has; the smiles and the hugs and the words.

Sometimes.

* * *

For the first day of school they reluctantly let him out of his room. Freak has already dressed into somebody else's clothes because he doesn't have anything of his own. Nothing that he can call his. It doesn't fit him properly and it's stiff from the dye but he's still excited.

He's leaving the house. He's going somewhere other than the Cat Lady's house. He'll get to see people and talk and read and -

He should have known better than to get his hopes up.

* * *

The teacher is calling names for registration and with every one Freak shrinks further into his seat. Meg, Thomas, Jane, Mark, Britney, Catherine, Hubert, Theo, Amelia…

Every name is so - wonderful.

Then there's "Freak".

Freak is awful. It's hits with a pan across the back of the head, it's Uncle drinking too much and dragging Freak in his room for punishments, it's cleaning while Dudley makes the mess, it's cooking and never eating.

When the teacher calls out for a "Harry" everything sort of stops. Because that was familiar, wasn't it? His mind whispers as the teacher then frowns, looks across the class and seems to count heads before asking for a "Harry" again.

Turns out that he wasn't a Freak, after all.

When he gets home his Uncle is purpling having been on the phone with the school who had some choice questions about why a boy would think he was called "Freak" and Harry knows, when he is smacked across the face before the door can even fully close that nothing has changed.

He understands as he is dragged up every step of the stairs for punishment, feeling every sharp edge thumping into his spine, that "Harry" wouldn't be any different.

* * *

People think he's weird, they think he's small and that he talks funny.

(They think he's weird.)

The teacher's like to call on him. He knows the answers, he knows because everything that's put in front of him he devours whether it's worksheets or textbooks or book-books and he knows and the teacher's like that.

But it's weird.

He's weird.

* * *

Dudley is always chasing people away. He's always hitting and lashing out like a bear with a thorn in its paw. He starts to look more and more like his Uncle and the more the resemblance takes hold, the more Harry starts to worry.

Really, Harry should have known better than to think he would have been allowed friends without his Aunt and Uncle around to stop him. Dudley, after all, is more than enough to get rid anyone that looks twice at Harry.

* * *

Harry is doing well at school until he's not. Every good grade that's his is mirrored in the reverse for Dudley who doesn't care for learning. There's always something else to be doing, to be distracted with. The word "apathy" is sort it for Dudley but…not quite.

Harry soon finds out that doing better than Dudley in school is nothing be proud of when he gives his Aunt his newest test result. He got everything right and Dudley had not. It marks the first time his Aunt lashed out with nothing but her hands and Harry understands as he clutches his face not to do it again.

* * *

Attention comes and goes and nearly all of it's bad. Harry thinks he'd prefer to be invisible because he can never do anything right so everyone is always angry at him. Not even his hair is right. Its too dark, his Aunt with her light blonde hair would sneer. Its too long, you look like a ruffian.

That's when the clippers come out. She scalps him, nicking him a few times as she does so. She keeps the fringe long to hide his scar and Harry can only stare at his reflection in the mirror for a second, before his Aunt is manhandling him off of his seat and forcing him back into his cupboard.

He curls up on his cot and thinks about every nasty word, every point and jeer he'll have to endure at school tomorrow as he bleeds into his pillow. He thinks about it; thinks about it until he can't anymore and he has fallen into a restless sleep about flying motorbikes and men that can change into animals.

When he wakes up, he shifts and instantly feels the weight of his hair, feels the long strands curl faithfully around his neck and he's instantly sat up. He hands runs over his head and his heart stalls when he feels its tresses softening against his skull. It silky and messy and there and he'll take any punishment for this. He doesn't care.

When his Aunt comes to let him out of his room it takes a second on seeing him for her to notice and when she does her face twists into something cold and ugly. Dimming with disgust, she grabs him by the hair and forces him into the kitchen where he starts breakfast.

(Every day after all school, his Aunt will cut it off twice as harshly as the day before and every time Harry's woken up after a night of worrying, it'll be back again. His Aunt will stop after a week and a half and it's the first time that Harry has felt like he's won.)

* * *

Harry Hunting has turned out to be a bit of a one sided sport but Harry is fast and Harry runs. He runs because the fight staying would cause isn't worth it. It's not that it was impossible to win if Harry chose to, it's that the one time Harry had thought to stand up for himself - the one time - Dudley had gotten a cut hand from falling onto the ground and when Harry had gotten home, what his Uncle did to him…

It wasn't worth it, Harry tells himself and runs. Honestly, neither are they.

* * *

Harry likes talking - or…he liked talking but no one was very interested in what he had to say. Animals always cared as he found with the neighbour's dog and Mrs Figg's cats, even that one runaway pet hamster was good company but if people hear…well, it was better for everyone if he just kept his mouth closed. It wasn't worth the hassle.

And Harry had more than enough scars for not keeping up appearances.

* * *

Harry is called into the Headmaster's office one day. The room is hot and stuffy and smells of burnt coffee and he instantly wants to leave and never return but his teacher pushes him in, until he has to take the seat on the opposite side the the desk.

He all but disappears behind it but he sits because he's been told to and waits because there's nothing more for him to do. It is silent as the Headmaster stares over his steepled fingers but his eyes aren't really seeing Harry. They aren't really looking at all.

He asks where his bruises came from but Harry has been through this before; he tries but he can't always cover up the punishments for his not-ever-being-enough, and the one time he told the truth doesn't bare thinking about.

I fell. I got into a fight. I didn't tie my shoelaces. I wasn't paying attention.

It's my fault.

Harry explains it all away until it fits like truths into his mouth. They taste bitter but there are worst things.

Maybe, he thinks as he is led back to class.

Maybe it is.

* * *

The day he got his Hogwarts letter is the day that he thinks everything will be different. He's not entirely right but he's not wrong either. Harry will, however, always resent the owl that carried his invite to him. Or the number of owls as was the case for Harry. And Hagrid - Hagrid…well, he will always be a source of conflict.

He often thinks back to that week of hide and seek with his relatives. With Dudley who was confused and bored and desperate to be normal with his television programmes and usual consumption of sweets. With his Uncle and the man's purple face and his white knuckled fists and then -

And then his Aunt who kept her eye on him like she was keeping him from being taken, like her sister turned out to have been.

Harry would have had some sympathy if she hadn't lied to him. If she hadn't called their deaths a car crash.

He knows as he looked at her then, in that dark broken cabin with Dudley sporting a pig's tail and his Uncle holding his pretzel of a short gun that he will never forgive her. And as his Aunt stares back, he knows she knows.

* * *

Harry gets his wand but it comes with a warning and "great but terrible things" echo in his ears past the calls of a famous person's name, till Hagrid tells him what really happened to his parents; to his family. His wand feels is a weight in his pocket he didn't know how to carry but it also feels right which just makes everything worse.

Harry keeps it even when part of him doesn't want to because though the story is grim, the wand is also his. Indisputably his and only his. It is the first thing he has ever owned and he couldn't bring himself to part with it and the connection it gave him, to this world.

* * *

The redhead asks to see Harry's scar and it's said like it's something wonderful. It's like he doesn't realise it was left behind from Harry's parent's killer; a failed attempt at Harry's own life, there on his face to make sure that he'd never forget. Harry lifts his fringe anyway and watches with dead eyes as the redhead's own light up.

When a girl with frizzy hair and bucked teeth enters their compartment later and asks for their names while looking for a toad of all things, Harry's not expecting her to tell him she knows everything about him. He resents that, a bit. Because she didn't know him and those books didn't know him. And the people of this world didn't know him.

The two of them deserve each other, Harry thinks, but they are also the first people to start a conversation with him in a while and that…well, they listen even if they don't always hear and that might have to be enough.

* * *

The Hat isn't sure where to put him. It circles and ponders and looks through Harry like no one ever has before because no one's ever cared to, but here and now Harry hates it because its intrusive and uninvited. Harry would have preferred to fight a troll. Just put me where people want me.

He knows he's famous now and it's loud and he doesn't know what to do with all the eyes attaching themselves to him. He doesn't like it but the Sorting is meant to mean something to these people and Harry doesn't want it to get louder. He doesn't care either way so whatever's easiest is best, really. He doesn't want another classification to be any more burdening than the other's he's already carrying.

He regrets that. The Hat says Harry will but Harry will end up regretting a lot of things and being a Gryffindor doesn't kill him. It would try but many things had.

* * *

The billowing roped-snake faced Potions professor hates him and Harry can't figure out why but then the twinkly-eyed, bearded headmaster likes him too much and he's not sure which one bothers him most. The strict cat with the tight hairdo is firm but fair and there's something about the Defence teacher that is…unsettling. But it's just another school, one half hates him - which is something Harry is used to - and the other thinks he's something he's not, which again is just another day in the life.

But there's magic and no relatives. Even the redhead and frizzy-hair grow on him even if its just through routine.

* * *

Nothing changes; he goes to classes, does homework, agrees to play magical chess between a mystery unraveling itself. (An obviously concocted mystery). Harry was young, he understood that but he wasn't stupid and the whole situation of a priceless, dangerous rock being left at a school was either due to incompetence or there was something else going on.

Either way, Harry was getting clues thrown at him left and right. He was still finding his feet but Harry did what someone obviously wanted from him and played detective.

It's when Harry sees the back of Quirrel's head that he understands that this is far more dangerous than he had initially given credence to. He thought he had been defending a stone but Harry's own life seemed to be at risk instead. Standing there, in too deep and with no rope to pull himself out with he wonders why this seems like a set up as he stares his parent's killer in the eye.

I remember you. He thinks but doesn't say because this being wouldn't care. I remember you; I remember you and how my mother begged for my life.

Harry isn't sure because happiness is a foreign thing to him so he's always in a dark place but as he stares into inhuman eyes, he thinks what festers in his heart is hatred. That scares him or, at least, he knows it should.

Learning he killed Quirrel and by proxy that thing doesn't - it doesn't bother Harry like it should and that scares him even more.

* * *

Turns out the redhead and frizzy-hair have already been told what occurred when Harry had gone on ahead of them and their reaction to the news Harry had killed defending himself and that stupid stone was strange. They had helped him though, followed him down that rabbit hole so Harry ignores it and tries to recover his strength.

He didn't fully understand what had happened with Quirrel but whatever it was, had drained Harry. It felt him boneless, without any sort of support. He'll learn it's magical strain and it eventually goes away, the cold it started does not.

The announcement of why Hogwarts would require a new Defence teacher happened while Harry was still in Pomfrey's care and his treatment afterwards is decidedly different through even more whispers and staring. The plump boy with the heart-shaped face who seemed forever forgetful, oddly seems affronted by this attitude and doesn't shy away from making a statement at breakfast and dinner by sitting himself next to Harry, even though he otherwise never said a said anything.

But actions spoke louder than words and Harry never asked anyone to speak for him.

* * *

When the forgetful boy joins Harry with the redhead and frizzy-hair in the compartment on the way back to the Dursley's, Harry's…glad? He like's the forgetful boy - Longbottom's - solid presence even when the guy's so nervous he can't look anyone in the eye and fidgets. Harry likes Longbottom in general, as he sits next to Harry, toad in his lap and quietly asks about Harry's plans while he's away.

Longbottom is sort of scared of everything so Harry understands that it probably took a lot for someone like him to come uninvited into a compartment, let alone talk to people who didn't quite count as friends, one of which was responsible for him spending a night jinxed stiff like a statue in their Common Room.

So, Harry answers in kind and responds that chores will probably take up all his time as the redhead and frizzy-hair bicker about something in the background. His voice is telling enough and he phrases his answer deliberately while watching as Longbottom jolts from where he had been watching Trevor. His tawny eyes are wide and his mouth parts just a bit.

Harry likes even more that Longbottom understands and observes as something about his classmate hardens, steels itself before Longbottom is commenting on how is uncle - the one that had thrown him out of a window - was coming to visit.

Longbottom gets it, truly understands which is probably why Harry allows Longbottom to hesitantly squeeze his hand.

* * *

The Dursley's are not happy to see him but Harry probably would have died from shock if they had been. They sneer at him and snatch his trunk from his hands after having left him to heave tit indoors. His belongings - the only things that he can truly call his own - are locked up in his old cupboard. No freakiness here, boy is being said on repeat like once isn't enough as his Uncle pulls him up the stairs and into the room with everything abandoned and broken.

He heads towards the bed after he picks himself up from the floor after his Uncle had thrown him skidding into the room. He sits and waits.

* * *

He doesn't get any Owls though the redhead and frizzy-hair had promised to write. Harry wasn't really expecting anything though because he's used to being the freak with nothing and no one. It is, however, a surprise when one morning while he is looking through the mail that he spots an envelope with his name on it and one too many stamps.

Harry never makes the same mistake twice and uncaring if it rips for it would be ripped if it were found anyway, he stuffs it into his pocket and takes the rest back to the breakfast table for his Uncle to look over his more than plentiful amount of food.

He waits all day, through his chores and his stomaches grumbles for sustenance until night has fallen and he is locked inside the bedroom again. He quietly opens the envelope under the blankets to muffle the ruffling of paper, pauses for sound before pulling it out into the light of the moon.

 **"To,**

 **Harry James Potter, Lord Potter of the Potter House.**

 **Hello, Harry (may I call you Harry? I guess I've never asked** **but since we're godbrothers I )** **. Sorry for sending you another letter I suppose if you were ever going to answer you would have by now, I just** **thought that** **wanted to talk to you.**

 **I haven't tried sending mail the Muggle way before so I'm not sure if it'll reach you and I don't want to write too much. This might be unwelcome since I forgot to ask on the train if it was alright with you** **and I guess after so long without any response I shouldn't bother you.**

 **If you receive this and you want to talk then, um, respond but it doesn't matter if you don't want to. Now that I've met you, I think I understand why you've been so quiet.**

 **Neville Longbottom**

 **Heir Longbottom of the Longbottom House**

 **PS. On the outside of this envelope is my address** **though you should already have it by now** **. You can send it the Muggle way if you want with a Postal Box. Grandmother wasn't** **happy** **amused but she didn't mind since the Longbottom's have been allied to the Potter's for so long."**

Harry lowers the letter and feels truly confused. Longbottom had rewrote some things several times over but hadn't marked it off well enough so it was still readable. Unease flooded him even as he hid the letter under the floorboards with a collection of other things he had squirrelled away. He took out a scrap piece of paper and straightened it out on the floor. It was crumbled and just a bit dirty with one part dog-eared and another edge torn.

The only thing he had to write with up here were old crayons but it would have to do. All his writing equipment was locked into his cardboard and it wasn't worth the risk to try and "borrow" one of the Dursley's pens.

What he had would have to do.

* * *

Meeting Dobby had certainly been an experience and although Harry appreciated the apparent risk the House Elf was taking in warning him, he didn't care. One way or another he'd be at the risk of bodily harm. What was a bit of death thrown into the odds?

Dobby didn't understand Harry's flippancy and that was fine, Harry didn't understand Dobby's urgency. After all, what did it matter in the end?

* * *

Harry has just helped fly a car into a demented tree and is looking forward to getting some sleep when in the darkness, his bed curtain's begin to shift then open. Harry sleeps with his wand under his pillow and he's not hesitant to use it.

The tip of his wand is glowing red and lighting up Longbottom's face before either of them can take a second breath. Instantly, Longbottom's hands are up in surrender. Harry's eyes narrow but he lowers his weapon and allows the other into his bed and for the curtains to close around them. Longbottom had never gotten back to the letter Harry had managed to send but the boy had received it, supposedly.

Longbottom was there to talk: to answer everything that wasn't safe enough to send in a letter and Harry - well, he was very good at listening.

Neville was his godbrother and Harry was a lord which meant land and a home. All that gold made sense now. The questions of why he had been put with the Dursley's echoed louder in his mind because it was obvious he had family - real family - and not just relatives.

There was a lot that didn't make sense and things to sort out (like going to Gringotts and requesting his Lordship Ring) but it was nice, to allow a barrier to…relax. Neville, soft and shy, nervous and desperate for some acceptance, who had written letter after letter that Harry had never gotten was…he was easy to be gentle with.

Harry had never had anyone in his bed before but allowed himself to curl up with the other boy because they had been sorting things out for hours and he was tired. It took a second before Longbottom - Neville - shifted to properly lie down with him, all the time asking if it was alright.

* * *

A pattern was emerging in Hogwarts. Something want wrong and Harry was either expected to fix it or was blamed for it. Least, that's what Harry was slowly coming to realise. It could even be a small thing like someone tripping in his vicinity but it was the larger problems that was starting to get under Harry's skin like dirt getting trapped inside his nails after a long, weathered day in his Aunt's garden.

The snake-faced professor was really responsible for whispering that spell into the ferret's ear. Harry hadn't realised that in all the magical world - with all that they can do - that they would fear a language, one that Harry hadn't fully known he could speak.

(Duelling was a bad idea for Harry anyway. He had been subjected to too much Harry Hunting so his fight or flight instincts were skewed. His body burned with adrenaline, his legs tingled and his fists clenched. He was ready to run; to move but duelling commanded control he didn't want to be stupid enough to exercise. No one in a proper fight should stand still and wait. What sort of garbage were this moron's trying to teach them?)

(Really, it was lucky that Malfoy had gotten that spell off when he did. Harry had been seconds away from pouncing on the git. The ferret's father didn't intimidate Harry in the least and in this world there were no cupboards, no punishments that could stifle the fire burning in Harry.)

* * *

Neville explains when everyone else has gone to bed, asleep and snoring obnoxiously, why speaking to snakes is such a bad thing. Neville doesn't seem scared or put off of Harry though. He's anxious, like he nearly always is but the calm that Harry had started to instil is eating away at the nerves.

Neville doesn't look at him any differently, doesn't try to tell him that it was unnatural (like the redhead) or that he should talk to someone about it (like frizzy-hair). Harry finally asks Neville why he's so calm about all of this and the boy shrugs. Nothings really changed. You could speak before and you still can.

Acceptance, Harry starts to understands, looks like a boy huddled down beside him, rosy plump cheeks and tawny eyes with floppy dark curls.

* * *

Someone is Petrified and mob mentality acts like it usually does and Harry is suddenly the Heir of Slytherin: Slayer of Mudbloods. It's ridiculous. No one has a brain in the Wizarding World (sorry Neville). They ignore evidence like the time Harry had started a punch out (and boy, had that ferret been out) with the ferret after the punk had insulted Harry's parents and his halfblood status. They don't seem to remember that he keeps company with frizzy-hair and has never once tried to push for a pureblood agenda.

None of what or who Harry is seems to matter. Harry can talk to snakes. Harry's different so he's obviously "dark".

Well, Harry takes issue with that.

Pushing that sword through that snakes mouth is the least the snake deserves.

The redheaded girl survives, gets up just in time to see Harry dying from the stab of a tooth that had gone straight through his arm. Her cries for him are barely heard over the rush of his blood, the swirling dim of his sight and the nausea clogging his throat as he struggled to breathe through the fire.

Harry was on **fire.**

Burning. Set alit. Harry starts to think as his body numbs; feels like a stranger's, if this was worth it. Neville would be waiting - did that matter either? Neville had more potential than he realised. He'd be fine without Harry. Everything would be fine -

Then a phoenix appears.

* * *

Harry is alive, his arm healed with a scar more gruesome than the Dursley's had ever managed and he wonders if this is his lot in life. If this is what living meant. If this is what his parents had wanted for him.

The redhead's are glad their daughter's still breathing but they never really acknowledge what it took to keep her that way. No good deed goes unpunished, his Aunt had muttered once after getting shortchanged and Harry's standing in a corner, watching this family reunion with with a puckered, red welt the size of a philosopher's stone on his forearm and a sword in his other hand.

* * *

Neville is sitting so close to Harry on the train ride back to the Dursley's that his godbrother is all but in his lap. Harry's never keen on crowding; he needs space to gauge he's safe but he doesn't move.

Harry had left Neville behind, after all, out go the snake's way but alone and had gone off with the redhead to what he knew was to face a something of a monstrous size and strength. When Harry had gotten back from Pomfrey's and flopped into bed, it wasn't a second later before Neville had joined him with angry eyes and pursued lips. Harry had hurt him and yet, there wasn't an ounce of regret in him.

Harry was used to fighting, that was all he could do. Neville was better, kinder and shouldn't be involved with stuff like that.

* * *

Harry still has to go back to the Dursley's. Neither of them are happy about it but he hadn't any intentions of blowing up his Uncle's sister until she said what she did, those - words about his parents who had died protecting him. Who had loved him and wanted him and tried doing a good thing.

He didn't care about his Uncle's beatings anymore as they had stopped hurting long ago (and there were worse things the man had done to him) but that also didn't mean that he was going to allow it anymore, either. He'd already performed magic so what was a bit more?

Harry bursts out of the house, into the darkness, foreswearing them. He's cold and alone and sitting on the edge of the pavement when a black dog the size of a wolf approaches him.

The dog doesn't stay a dog for very long.

* * *

 **Con/textual Vomit:** Please excuse this chapter, I'm not...that happy with it. It's a base for the next one. That, and I needed to try and mix some of Hibari's characteristics into Harry before they become more obvious with what happens next chapter. Neville is also important for the story introducing him the way I have isn't random :).

I didn't have any dialogue in this chapter because I feel like during these years of abuse, Harry would have been internalising a lot. That is also why Harry very rarely uses names, too. A certain dogfather will be helping with that next chapter

Oh, and a further apology for the formatting on Neville's letter. In A03 it allows be to strikethrough words so I had to compensate here with underlining instead.

 **(Originally Uploaded: 29/04/2017)**

 **OZ**


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